THE BIG WOODS are hot and dry and quiet these days, for we have come to summer’s halfway mark and nature is pausing for .a rest on the portage from spring to fall. The rains are past, the growing season is over, and now come the dog days when Sirius, the Dog Star, rises and sets with the sun.
The days of July are long and sunny and even the winds seem too lazy to blow, which gives all the insect pests a chance to make life miserable for man and beast. The moose and the deer are in the quiet coves and backwaters of the streams trying to escape the tormenting winged pests, which make them lose some of their fear of man. Paddling through the narrows from Snow Goose Lake with Chief Tibeash recently we came on seven moose up to their necks in the water and in no mood to get out of the way of our canoe. Not until the Chief whacked his cupped hands together to make a report like a gun did they plunge back toward shore where they watched us pass and quickly returned to the cool protection of the mud and water where juicy lily roots helped to make them forget their misery. No, sir, you are never quite sure of the mind of a moose in fly time. It is best to give him the right of way. The antlers of the deer and moose are out of the velvet stage now and are growing hard and strong.
There’s no mistaking a July evening. Often the sun sets in a blaze of red and heat waves dance over the open rocky places. In the hush of twilight when the smoke rises in a slow, wavering streak you can hear the solemn croaking of the herons flying across to some night feeding place. The air is filled with the hum of the mosquitoes and you can hear the crazy laugh of a loon echoing in the hills.
To be sure, July has its good points, but if anyone asked me which month could best be spared if summer had to be shortened, I think I would say July. The Indians call it Aupascen o Pesim, the Month When the Birds Cast Their Feathers. They are lucky to be molting during the hot days. This month brings the worst insect pests of the year, the common black fly, the mosquito, and the midge, or no-see-um, as the Indians call them. The black fly is small enough, but the midge is still smaller and you can’t see either one of them coming. You just feel them. There is one good thing about black flies: they go to bed early and as soon as the sun sets they disappear. But the midge and the mosquito are sleepless and bloodthirsty pests.
Head nets are some help, but mosquito netting is too coarse to keep out the black flies. If you use a net it must be of cheesecloth, which is pretty hot around your head on a warm day. I rely on plenty of fly dope and my favorite is made of about three ounces of pine tar, three ounces of vaseline, and one ounce of citronella. Mix it thoroughly in a can set in boiling water, and then put it in small cans or wide-mouthed bottles. The vaseline, being thick, helps to keep the dope on your face longer than the liquid types and is easier to carry. One fellow I know adds a little camphor to make the dope that much more hateful to the insects. I have used bear grease in place of the vaseline in a pinch, but it is apt to get rancid and unpleasant in warm weather. Another dope I have used is made of pine tar with olive oil taking the place of vaseline, and one ounce of pennyroyal. Pine tar is too harsh for the skin of some folks, in which case the citronella and pennyroyal will have to do. When camphor is used it should be dissolved in grain alcohol before mixing with the rest of the ingredients.
When you turn in at night you want to make sure that your tent is free of insects. There is only one thing to do about mosquitoes, and that is to chase them and swat them. Likely as not you will find the midges on the front of the tent down near the bottom while the black flies are at the top where it is lighter and warmer. But what is better than swatting is a D.D.T. bomb filled with a gas that clears a tent of insects in no time. To be sure it is just another piece of gear to carry, but one of those bombs is worth a lot in good sleep free of bugs that bite.
You hear people say that at this time of year it is so hot that even the birds haven’t got enough energy to sing. Maybe there is a little truth in that, but the main reason they are quiet is that all the excitement of the mating season and nest building is over. I suspect, too, that while the young ones are still inexperienced about keeping out of trouble the old folks are not anxious to let anyone know where the family is feeding. You hear them singing a little early in the morning or in the evening, but the fine rich songs of May and June are gone and as a matter of fact, you don’t see very much of the birds these days, for they keep to the shade of the deep woods and spend quite a lot of time close to the waterways.
Although most of the tree swallows have raised their families, we still find a few nesting, sometimes in a knothole or in an abandoned woodpecker’s nest. Their nests are usually made of straw and feathers. Tree swallows do not depend entirely on insects for living, because they can also eat berries, which few other swallows like. On pleasant days you see them darting about in the warm air, especially toward evening, but if it cools off quickly they will suddenly disappear and won’t be seen again until the weather warms up. From what I have observed at such times they go into the woods or the hills where they are sheltered from cool air.
We also see cedar waxwings—some call them cedar or cherry birds—nesting this month, and if you put out little shreds of cloth or string where they can find it you can be pretty sure that it will be woven into their nests. They also like the soft outer bark of grapevines and cedar trees and line their nests with very fine roots.
Outside my window in the hush of the evening I can hear a tree cricket chirping. Its full name is the snowy tree cricket. Only the males chirp and one of the interesting things about them is that you can tell the temperature from their song. Just count the number of chirps per minute, subtract forty, divide the result by four, add fifty, and the result will be the temperature within a degree or so. If you don’t believe me, try it yourself and you will be convinced.
Now is the season when you see a great many butterflies, and it is mighty interesting to walk through a grassy place in a clearing and watch them rise up and flutter away in the quiet air; and at night the moths come by the hundreds drawn by the light in the window.
I wonder if you have ever noticed that the butterflies seem to dress to suit the season in which they fly? In the spring before the leaves come out and the woods are still drab and colorless, most of the butterflies are the darkwinged kind marked with some brown and black. Often you will find them when patches of snow are still on the ground. When the skunk cabbage sprouts and the timid violets show their flowers, you will see small blue butterflies, while later when the woods have put on the full bright dress of spring, the big swallow tails come with colors that gleam like brushed metal, and others with stripes and belts of bright colors flutter through the woods. In the clearings the little white and yellow butterflies appear, and all about the woods are the small ones with warm brown and black wings. When the summer sun is highest and all the blossoms are out you will notice that the butterflies flying then often show copper colors and spotted patterns with black and red to catch the eye and suggest that autumn is on the way. Then there are others with spots that look like polished silver on the lower side of the wings, while some show peacock’s eyes. The color of the moths usually suggests the darkness in which they fly, although you often see the little white and yellow butterflies fluttering at the lighted window.
There is no greater pleasure than studying butterflies and the best way is to get yourself a book with accurately colored illustrations so that you can learn to know each one. You don’t have to go far to find butterflies, for some love the shady places where brooks flow quietly, and others the hillsides. The forest meadows where the wild flowers look to the sun are the favorite place of many.
Two young fellows came through on a canoe trip and stopped by Hank’s while I was there one day, and as it was close to sundown we asked them to pitch their tent close by and spend the evening with us. Mighty nice boys they were, and interested in learning all they could about woodcraft, especially about handling a canoe. Seems they had quite a tussle getting up some of the streams and had forgotten to bring along any line for “tracking,” which is what we call hauling a canoe up fast water.
What you do is hitch your rope on the forward or middle thwart and one fellow goes ashore and pulls the canoe up the stream while the other stays in and keeps her off rocks. If you hitch your rope to the bow ring the canoe is pulled toward the shore, which is wrong, but with the rope tied to a thwart the canoe will pull up stream fairly straight and sometimes the current will hold her out without any steering.
Of course you can pole up a stream, too. We use a pole about twelve feet long with an iron spike in the end, but you want to be sure of your balance before you try that.
The choice of method depends, of course, on the kind of stream you are in. Where the current is too swift for poling, tracking is the best way.
These boys were surprised that the water in some of the lakes up here is so brown, and I told them how it gets that way from so much vegetation. Lumbering also turns water brawn. Maybe you know the old trick of clearing water when you have to take it from a murky lake by digging a hole back from the shore, maybe six to ten feet. A sandy beach is the best place and when you get down to the water level it filters through and the sand screens out most of the sediment. Bail out the hole several times and soon the water will come in almost clear. Mind you, filtering does not necessarily purify polluted water, which is something a fellow wants to be on the watch for. If you are in doubt the safe thing to do is to boil it. Another method is to put two drops—no more—of iodine to a gallon of water. That kills dangerous germs. If water has an unpleasant taste or smell, drop some charcoal from your fire into it while it is boiling. The charcoal will absorb the objectionable taste.
One of the things I did this summer was to make myself a grass cutter, and I do not mind saying that I am just a mite proud of it. Up here we do not have lawn mowers and could not use them if we had, but just the same the grass in the clearing around the cabin has to be kept down. I took a metal hoop from an old flour barrel and bent it into a triangular shape and set it into a slot sawed in the end of a light dry spruce sapling, where it is held in place by nails driven through and clinched. I filed the bottom blade on both sides until it was very sharp. Then all I had to do was to walk along and swing it back and forth at my side, and down came the tall grass. It is much better than a sickle because I do not have to bend over. The lighter the metal the better because a sort of whipping motion gives best results. A nail keg hoop would be even better than one from a flour barrel, but I had none.
These are days when an afternoon nap is pleasant, and that reminds me of barrel-stave hammocks. Hank made one with hay wire woven in and out between the staves on both sides and in the middle, with loops at the end to hang it. Some bore holes in the ends of the staves and weave the wire through them. Also good sash cord can be used in place of the wire for such a hammock. To my way of thinking this type is more restful than other kinds of hammock where you are doubled up most of the time.
A friend of mine who lived down in the jungles of Brazil for a while brought home one of the hammocks that the people down there use. It is nearly seven feet long and five feet wide, and looks much the same as our old-fashioned woven hammocks. It is the extra width that counts, for the Brazilians sleep in it catty-cornerwise and lie almost as flat as if they were in a bed. These hammocks are hand-woven and some have extra fancy edgings. He says they are very cool for sleeping so I asked him to get me one to try out on hot nights up here.
Hank loves to stretch out in his stave hammock between two pines close to the shore of the lake and watch the young ducks feeding along the lake shore. Some of them are so tame we can feed them by hand. One day a family of mergansers came by, the mother in the lead, with six little fellows paddling along behind and one riding on her back. And in the woods you see other kinds of young, especially the half-grown whiskey jacks and chubby little bluebirds. You can hear them calling to their parents for food; it seems they are always hungry and a young bird often eats more than its own weight in a day. Hank always has his binoculars handy and he lies back as comfortable as you please and studies the birds by the hour.
These long and sultry July days I relish a glass of raspberry shrub, or raspberry vinegar, a mighty fine hot-weather drink. The way I make it is to crush two and a half quarts of raspberries—wild if you can find them for best flavor— and drop them into a quart of good cider vinegar. Some say wine vinegar makes it better. Anyway, you cover the berries and vinegar for about four days, stirring now and then. After that you strain the mixture through a flannel bag, but cotton sheeting will do, and boil the liquid for fifteen minutes. Before you start the boiling, add half a pound of sugar to a pint of liquid. Skim the froth off as it boils and then pour into clean, boiled bottles and cork until you use it. If you want your drink sweeter you can add sugar when you mix. About a tablespoonful of shrub to a glass of cold water is right for most folks. Ice makes it extra nice.
With one downy youngster riding on her back
It is getting close to the time for our camping trip, so I have been putting my canoe in top condition for traveling. It is built of cedar strips an inch wide with ribs every three inches and is finished with spar varnish in the natural color of the wood. Best canoe I have ever owned—broad and flat bottomed at the center to carry a heavy load, with a fine clean-cutting bow which is not so high as to catch the wind and make paddling hard. She weighs just seventy-five pounds.
On long trips I always carry a six-foot square of oiled balloon cloth with brass grommets set in the edges. Its main purpose is to give me a leg-o’-mutton sail for the canoe when the wind is right, for I’m not one to paddle all day if a friendly breeze will let me sit back and take it easy. This combination sail and tarpaulin also serves as a waterproof cover for wrapping my blankets while traveling and comes in handy as extra bedding on cool nights. By folding it in half and lacing the grommets along the two edges I get a light duffel bag.
Used as a sail the square is folded diagonally and the sides laced together with a light cord. The peak is fastened to a mast made of a light spruce or balsam sapling by means of a half-hitch so that the sail can be dropped instantly in case of a dangerous squall. I use another very light sapling for a boom and with a length of line for a sheet I can handle the sail nicely. When I’m alone I use the sail only for running before the wind, but if I have a partner with me I get him to hold his paddle over the side to act as a leeboard and while it is impossible to head very close to the wind, long reaches can be taken to work up-wind pretty well. To be sure that little square is another thing to carry, but it weighs less than two pounds and it never fails to earn its keep.
Once in a while when we are traveling with two canoes and have a long stretch of fair sailing ahead, we lash them together a few feet apart by means of saplings across the stern and the forward thwarts, rig a couple of saplings in the bow of each canoe and hoist my tarpaulin sail full size between them like a square sail. Canoes securely lashed this way are very seaworthy, and it is good sport sitting back taking it easy while the wind carries you along.
If you haven’t done much sailing and are new to canoes and north woods waters leave sails alone and stick to your paddle. If you go over in the cold waters of a wilderness lake there is no one to help and you won’t last long.
The same thought holds true for outboard motors, which are mighty handy if you can get fuel without too much trouble, but the tendency is to drive them too fast, and in strange waters, particularly in lumbering country, you may smash a canoe on a submerged tree or a “dead man” (wandering water-logged piece of timber) not to mention the rocks that lie just under the water in many shallow lakes. What is more, you will have a chance to see the country better for a good workout with a paddle at a slower pace.
For portaging a canoe I favor a yoke. Paddles can be lashed to the thwarts, which is always good enough, but they are hard on the shoulders. Some woodsmen like the kind of yoke used for carrying pails of water, but my portaging frame is simple—just two pieces of spruce or pine two and one-half inches wide and one and three-quarters inches thick, held apart at the ends bv crosspieces to fit on the gunwales. On this frame can be riveted leather or webbing straps four inches wide. The straps must fit loosely to slip them side ways for a comfortable spot on your shoulders. Where the ends of the frame fit on the gunwales cut a notch three-quarters of an inch deep, which keeps it from sliding off. One side of the frame is then lashed to the thwart. For the shoulder straps I got some discarded machine belting from a machine shop. It is a fine rig and makes a long portage seem short.
Another help on a portage is knowing the trick of getting a heavy packsack on your back. The Chief showed me how when I first began traveling with him years ago. Put the packsack at your feet with its back toward you and take hold of the shoulder straps with both hands. Then bend your right leg so that you can pull the pack up and rest it on your knee. The next step is to drop your right shoulder down so that your right arm can slip through the shoulder strap, the one on your left as you face the back of the pack. Then swing your left arm behind you and grasp the other shoulder strap, give a quick heave, and the pack swings into place on your back and your left arm slips through its proper strap with ease. Small as he is, the Chief can still beat Hank and me at lifting a hundred-pound pack.
One piece of gear I couldn’t get along without is a tump line. Don’t know who invented it, but it is about the handiest thing you can have on the trail and the fellow who thought of it discovered another way to put your head to work. Mine is made from two straps of moose rawhide eight feet long riveted to a headband three inches wide and eighteen inches long. With a tump line you can carry a load of firewood as easily as you can a blanket roll or pack, and it can be used to track a canoe up a rapids or lash the load on a sled. I have even tied one short on the thwart of a canoe to take some of the weight off my shoulders on a long portage when I had no yoke. You can’t afford to be without one.
Food needs careful watching these hot July days and I make good use of the cooler in my spring to keep things fresh. I use a box with several one-inch holes bored in each end and set it in the little stream that flows from the spring so that the water runs through the holes in the box. In the bottom are several large flat stones to hold it down and to set the dishes of food on, for the stones hold the chill of the water and that box is almost as cool as a regular refrigerator. It is in the shade of a big spruce so the sun never hits it. The lid is held down by a heavy stone so the small animals can’t get at my victuals, but one night while I was away a bear got in and ate up everything I had. By the way, I keep two small trout in my spring, an old trick to keep the water free of bugs and clean. They are so tame I almost have to push them aside when I dip up a pail of water.
I once had a very practical cold room which I copied from one I saw in a French Canadian village. This kind is built in a hole in the ground six feet deep, six wide, and eight long, has double walls of rough boards separated by two-by-four inch uprights, and the space between the walls is filled with sawdust for insulation. The floor is dirt, and the room is divided in half by a partition of boards with one-inch spaces between them. On the food compartment side are shelves with doors that close to a snug fit, while on the other side ice is stored in the winter, packed down in sawdust. On top there is a board cover with straw, sawdust, and maybe some earth on top of it.
The roof is built on a slant with a door opening into the food room and narrow stairs to go down. The roof next to the door is tight, but the section over the ice is laid up of loose boards like shingles to give free ventilation. Make sure that the partition comes right up to the roof, and it should be double from the top of the shelves up so no warm air will drift through.
It is surprising how cold the food compartment gets— around 45 degrees! Since cold, moist air is heavy and sinks, it doesn’t warm up much when the bulkhead door is opened. In regular refrigerators with side-opening doors the chilled air pours out like a stream heading down a pitch for a lower level. I have a notion I may build one at Cache Lake, even though my spring box is pretty cool. I can’t get sawdust, but I figure pine needles and sphagnum moss would make very good insulation for packing the ice.
Another kind of camp refrigerator which, while not as cold as the iceboxes, does a very good job, can be made of a small open wooden frame with shelves between the four uprights and covers on all sides with a large bag made of cotton or some openweave fabric that will take up water evenly. Place a pail of water on top of the framework and tuck the closed end into it in such a way that the open end can be drawn down on all sides and draped over the frame. Acting as a wick, the bag draws the water downwards toward the bottom of the frame. As the breeze blows on the damp cloth the temperature inside is lowered by the principle of cooling by evaporation. People in hot countries use the same idea in porous jars which sweat and thus lower the temperature of the water.
I have been working on my front porch lately, for the frost heaved a corner post last winter and I wanted to level it up before fall. I dug the hole deeper and set in a new cedar post to make sure of a good job. I didn’t have a level when I started, but I soon made one of a small medicine vial tied to a three-foot straight board about four inches wide. It worked fine, too, for after I tied on the vial I tested it by carefully placing the edge of the board on a pool by the lake. You can always be sure that a pool of water is level.
Fill the vial just about full so that when it is corked and laid on its side the bubble is no more than a quarter of an inch long. When you put it on the water to get the exact spot when the bubble is in the middle, get someone to make a mark at the center of the bubble and then later make a scratch with a file to make the mark permanent. You will be surprised how useful a level can be. But remember that the piece of wood you use, whether it is three, four, or five inches wide, must be that same width for its entire length, otherwise it won’t give you a true level.
This is a time of year when everyone has to be mighty careful of fire in the big woods. Everything is as dry as tinder and once a fire gets started you are in a fix. A forest fire is a terrible thing to face. I know it firsthand, for once years ago I got caught. First saw signs of it nearly a hundred miles away with smoke billowing to the clouds. That fire was seventy-five miles wide, so there was no way to get around it, and it was coming too fast for me to keep ahead of it. Once they get going in heavy growth, fires generate their own wild gales, and race on at great speed with a deep roaring sound that can be heard miles away.
I happened to know of a lake with a clearing part way around, half a day’s travel to the east, so I made for it by way of a portage and got there just in time. The fire was then only a few miles away. Less than half an hour later I was as ready as a man could be in such a fix. I dug a hole in the beach and buried all my outfit, including my coat, watch, and compass. Then I sank the canoe with rocks near shore and sat in the water beside it. I don’t mind telling you I was scared plumb to death.
Not long before the fire reached the edge of the lake the animals began to appear, hundreds of rabbits, porcupines, deer and two bears, running for their lives. All except the rabbits and porcupines plunged into the lake and stayed there with their heads just above the water. Then with a frightful roar the fire hit us. I ducked my head over and over again. I could hardly breathe the air was so hot. Then in a flash a great sheet of flame arched over the lake, which, mind you, was half a mile wide, and the air was filled with burning pieces of wood lifted by the great wind. As I ducked again and looked up I saw the deer standing with terror in their eyes. Close beside them were two moose that I hadn’t seen before, and not fifty feet away were the bears. The fire was their enemy and they had lost their fear of each other and of me. An hour after the fire leaped across the lake the heat was not so bad, but when I went out to dig up my outfit the sand was still so hot I had to wait for it to cool off. The rabbits were lost, for they were afraid to go into the lake. Little by little the deer, moose, and bears came out of the water and wandered away along the beach frightened and bewildered for the forest was still burning. I had to camp that night right there for the woods were covered with burning trees and I couldn’t cross the portage.
That is what a forest fire is like and you can bet I am careful about building my campfire in safe places, such as on a beach or flat rock, and I keep away from any moss or dry sod. That is the worst stuff for carrying a fire underground where it creeps along before you realize it. I use a small fire for cooking—not much bigger than your hand—feeding it dry twigs which make hot flames and don’t smoke up your pots. The only time you need a big fire is when the weather is cold or rainy. Before you break camp be sure to wet everything down, scattering the embers carefully so you are sure all hot coals are thoroughly out.
Only a while back I noticed a haze in the air and in a day’s time I got the first faint whiff of that smell we all dread. I took a canoe and my pack and started for the timber country to see what was up, but when I was crossing Thunder Lake I spotted the company’s plane about the same time that the pilot saw me and he came gliding down to tell me that the fire was west of Bent Pole Lake seventy-five miles northwest of us, and that we were safe unless the wind changed. Airplanes are wonderful things for in an hour he can fly over a section of country it would take us two weeks to cross in a canoe.
On the way back on the Thunder Lake portage I met a prospector on his way up. Somehow when you are on a portage with a pack on your back and you meet a fellow and stop to speak, you just naturally lean forward on your paddles to ease the load of your pack, and so the blades cross between you making what we call “the cross of the north.” He was more than glad to get the location of the fire, for he was on a short grub stake and wanted to keep going.
The lightning that is sometimes blamed for starting fires in the woods often comes from the bowl of a pipe, a cigarette, or a glowing match. Any way you look at it, smoking in the woods is dangerous and we make it a practice not to light up when we’re traveling. When we want a puff we stop for a rest as the old-timers did and make sure that when we knock out the ashes there are no sparks left to start trouble. Cigarettes are the most dangerous because they smolder for a long time and a fire may not start until you are some distance away. Another reason for not smoking on the trail is that while you are walking or paddling it is bad for your wind. What you need then is plenty of good clean air with lots of oxygen in it.
When I was a youngster in the woods with my Dad one of the things he taught me was to break a match in two before I threw it away. The first time I tried it I burned my fingers and quickly learned why it is a good method of preventing fires, for you can’t break a match in two while it is hot.
When you are looking for a camping place, especially during dry spells, pick if possible an open rocky site handy to water. One of the worst battles I had with fire was when I was camping alone and a blaze got started in the dry moss and sod that grows in open evergreen woods. Before I realized it a spark from my fire had got into the moss and worked underground, spreading out in a network and coming to the surface in a dozen different places. You would hardly believe that I had to work for two hours carrying water from the lake and wetting down every spot that smoked before that fire was out. No sooner would I get one place wet down than another fire would crop up somewhere else. I learned a lesson right there, for I had been burning tamarack which is a wonderful wood in the stove and good for campfires too, but it shoots sparks ten feet without any trouble and you have to watch it every minute.
While we are on the move we try to pick a place for our campfire close to the water’s edge so that when we are ready to start on our way all we have to do is to push the whole fire into the water. Often enough when you wet a fire down and think it is out you may miss a stray ember that gets going later on. If we are on a lake where there are lots of islands, which are mighty pretty anyway, we often choose one for our camp. For one thing the insects are not apt to be so bad out on the water where the wind has a chance to get at them, and another reason is that you feel safer with a fire on an island where at least it can’t burn up miles of timber.
If you are in the woods and spot a big fire, make careful note of the direction the smoke is blowing and then if it is headed your way set a course that will take you above or below the fire, whichever is shortest. To run ahead of a forest fire is usually a losing game, for when it really gets up to full power it travels at terrible speed, and as its front widens you don’t have time to get out of its path.
Back of my cabin in an open sandy place where the sun strikes down all day, I have built myself a sundial, for it is interesting to watch a shadow mark off the hours, although, as I have said before, we don’t live by hours up here. Instead of making a small sundial, I got a clean, straight tamarack about twelve feet long and prepared a location by leveling the ground carefully. That is important if you want accurate time. The pole was set in a hole nearly three feet deep and the earth filled in loosely so that I could swing it down for final adjustment to the proper position. Once that was done I waited until darkness fell and then slanted the pole to the north until, when I sighted along it, the North Star was exactly in line. Then I tamped the earth firmly around the base and made a final check by sighting along the pole to make sure it had not shifted position.
The angle of sight from where you stand to the North Star corresponds to the latitude of your location, so you can also put up a sundial by finding your latitude and setting the pole at that angle. Just for example, if you live at forty-five degrees north the pointer would be set at an angle of forty-five degrees, but don’t forget that in addition to placing it at the proper angle, it must always point North.
The next step is to lay out the hour marks on a circle around the pointer. The simplest method is to drop a plumb bob from the tip of the pointer and drive a stake directly beneath it. If the pole is properly set the shadow of the pole should cover the stake at twelve o’clock, noon. Then with a watch you can mark off each hour by driving a stake in the center of the shadow for every hour that has sunlight enough to cast a shadow.
What got me started making a sundial was one of the signs the Chief left for us when he went on a trip one day. When Hank and I went over to see him we found a little sapling stuck in the ground pointing east, which meant that he had gone across the lake. Right beside it he had marked a rough circle like a clockface and stuck a twig in pointing out from six o’clock. That was his way of telling us the time he left. There was a twig leaning toward the four o’clock mark, so we knew he expected to be back about that time. And it wasn’t more than half an hour after that we saw him coming across the lake.
The Chief can’t write, but his signs tell a lot. If he is away and wants us to wait for him he will put up little twigs in the shape of a tepee, meaning to make use of his cabin. If he wants to tell us that he has gone for two days he will draw a circle to represent the sun and stick two twigs in the middle, with another outside leaning in the direction he went. If for some reason he didn’t want us to follow him he would put two crossed sticks in front of the one showing direction.
Once he left a sign that took me a while to figure out. It was two little logs with a lot of twigs between and a sapling slanting over them. Finally it came to me, for the sapling was just where a pot would be over a fire, which was indicated by the twigs between the logs. Then beside it was the circle with the six o’clock hour marked with a twig showing he would be back about six o’clock. I made a good guess that he meant me to get a fire going in the cabin stove for supper. And sure enough he came back with a fine catch of trout.
It didn’t take me long to find out what the Chief had in mind, for he loves the kind of trout chowder I make and he had even saved a few potatoes that he had brought in on his last trip to the settlement. I like my chowder without any bones, so I get rid of all skin and bones, and start by frying several thick slices of salt pork with chopped onions until they are well browned. This is put in the pot with the fish and raw potatoes cut in chunks with just enough water to cover. Then I add a generous amount of evaporated milk, which to my mind is even better than fresh milk for a chowder and many other kinds of cooking. When the chowder is done after cooking slowly for about an hour it is golden brown and Hank and the Chief love the flavor of the fried pork and browned onion.
